


After the war

by towardsmorning



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towardsmorning/pseuds/towardsmorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jake knows every gentlemanly rule in the book for a scrap and is loathe to break them with a friend. Roxy has no such worries, because rules are for losers and Roxy intends to win every fight she enters."</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the war

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got sick of going, 'where is all the Jake gen fic? Where is all the Jake-Roxy fic?' and just wrote some. I love both these two and really like the idea of their friendship, I have to say.

Roxy believes in always, always being prepared; she uses her fistkind more than her riflekind when she's practicing. You can't leave your fists behind, she reasons, so if she can master that she'll never be vulnerable. Well. Not unless something has gone _very_ unexpectedly wrong. Her arms are wiry and strong, though she doesn't think she'll ever quite move beyond scrawny after years of rationing out food in fits of paranoia. She also thinks that she can live with that as long as it doesn't stop her throwing a punch. The game is over now, but it's not like there's never going to be anything else to fight. A safer world is not the same as a safe world. Plus, guns are apparently harder to get away with in civilisation, especially ones as completely awesome and slightly oversized as hers. Sometimes she thinks real life was a much more exciting prospect to consider from afar.

She doesn't have to worry much about that last point right now because there's nobody on or off Earth that would mistake Hellmurder Island for civilisation, but that's neither here nor there. She still doesn't get her gun out except to let Jake fawn over it and have a go- say what you want about Jake but he has freaking good aim- because strifes between friends should be an up close and personal kind of deal. It's only right. A "good fisticuffs" is all he ever seems to want from life, and Roxy would hate to let him down. What are friends for?

Jake grew up on films and the odd novel here and there, a few comics for variety; he knows every gentlemanly rule in the book for a scrap and is loathe to break them with a friend. Roxy has no such worries, because rules are for losers and Roxy intends to win every fight she enters. He'll hesitate to kick her when she's sprawled out on the ground even as he nurses the split lip she gave him five minutes ago, still bleeding. She'll retaliate by snapping a leg upwards to catch him in the crotch, pulling his hair once he's doubled over. It's not like they settled on rules beyond 'let's not upset Janey, right?' beforehand, so how can it be cheating, is what Roxy thinks.

"Not- sporting-" he gasps out, and she giggles as much as she can while half-winded and dizzy with adrenaline, lashing out a foot to hook around his ankle. "Yield!" he shouts, and she can see an answering grin spread across his face, rueful, even as he struggles to get his breath back. He straightens up just slightly, still wheezing. She remains where she is, panting with exertion but probably looking a lot happier with the outcome than him.

"One to me," Roxy sings at him. This fight has left her hair dirty already from the dusty ground. Her white skirt is half grey and when she rubs at her eye, her hand comes away streaked with mascara she probably should have left off. No doubt she looks awful, but it's not like Jake will care. He looks better, but only a little, and there's more blood on his face, sticky and probably in need of attending to. It'll wait.

"Well I did say I wanted a partner," he says, "I suppose a bloke can't expect them to just roll over!"

"That'd be booooring," she agrees, rolling each letter over her tongue as a challenge. "Wanna try again, hotstuff?" He splutters, even though she's barely even thinking about the words beyond getting them out her mouth. Mostly she wants to hit him again, not hit _on_ him. She still winks, just to see his dark brown skin grow even darker across the bridge of his nose. He makes an abortive motion to go help her up, but draws his hand back quick as a flash at the last second. She smiles; he's learning fast. That's good. Too many advantages make for a poor fight.

"Best out of three?" he offers, and Roxy springs up into a crouch. Her knees sting alongside her eyes, but not unbearably so. This is so much better than practising against thin air, and better, she thinks, than the kind of contact she gets from Jane. Her friend is nothing but gentle, and after so long alone, Roxy doesn't feel she knows her own strength- there was never anything to judge it against. Jane is so soft, and Roxy so sharp. She never knows where to put her hands. Jane is so kind sometimes it renders Roxy breathless, but she just wants to let go every now and again. This is her compromise between loneliness and feeling like she doesn't fit.

Jake isn't like her or Dirk, but he's not like Jane either. He's not soft, and Roxy knows where to put her fists if nothing else. God knows he never turns down a fight. Sometimes she thinks he's basically just perfect, even though he'll usually do something completely ridiculous all of twenty seconds later to prove her wrong.

He makes the first move this time. The air gushes out of her as he knocks her back down and she lets the tail end of it be a laugh, knee driving up into his stomach and head hitting the ground with a heavy thud. They're sprawled all over each other, her hand scrambling to cover his face as she shoves him back, and the part of her not working out how to give him a black eye is singing at the warmth and contact. She wonders if he feels the same. He takes every fight so seriously that it's always hard to tell if he really enjoys it, face screwed up in concentration in the most endearing way. He throws himself into fights like he throws himself into everything, without thought or anything but sheer determination knocking around in his head. Better than he used to be, but some things never change.

Roxy will ask him later, maybe. Once she's won.


End file.
